Yellow Wife(46)

My nervousness started to wane as Abbie and Elsie served the next course. Pork legs, dumplings, and potatoes with stewed vegetables and gravy.

“Delicious,” Corrina commented.

She appeared to be just a few years older than me, and so beautiful I found it hard to look at her without staring.

“Finding a woman to cook to my tongue has been trial and error. How long has she been with you?”

“She was here before me.”

“Lucky.” Corrina ate some more.

Besides the scrape of forks and knives the entire party fell silent as everyone enjoyed their meal. Elsie had outdone herself with the flavors and seasoning. After having seconds, the Jailer pushed back from the table.

“We will take our dessert and cordials in the parlor,” he told Elsie, and then showed the men out.

“Missus, would you like your dessert served here?” Elsie’s tone pretended at passiveness, but by the way the three women eyed each other, I knew that she had not succeeded.

I placed my glass down on the table and looked at her pointedly until she dropped her eyes. “Yes, please.”

When she exited the room, I sighed more loudly than I’d intended.

“You all right?” Anne touched my arm.

“Yes, of course,” I said, searching for a new topic. “How long have you lived in Richmond?”

Anne replied. “I was born not far from here. Hector took possession of me when I turned thirteen. You?”

“A little over a year.” I dabbed my chin with my napkin. “Born in Charles City.”

“Well, I have been here eight years. Still cannot adjust to the filth of the city.” Helen pouted.

“I love the city,” Corrina replied. “There is much more opportunity here for women like us. If we were on a plantation, the best we could hope for was a position working in the big house. Here, we are running our own homes.”

The other women nodded in agreement as Elsie brought in a silver tray with slices of pie, and blueberries and cream, and placed them on the table. We ate and talked about our children, the endless shopping and management of the servants and food supply. From these women, I discovered that Richmond was second to New Orleans in the slave trade and that there were several jails, holding pens, and auction houses similar to ours scattered within a few-block radius.

As the evening progressed, Anne shared that her older brother, who had lived as a free man in Anne Arundel County, Maryland, had turned up missing a month ago. She feared that he had been stolen and sold South. Corrina squeezed Anne’s hand as Helen confessed to the guilt she nursed over families being separated at auction.

“Sometimes I feel their blood on my hands.”

“None of it is your fault. I have learned that all we can do is pray for change,” Corrina offered, and I felt less alone with my own shame in preparing the girls for sale.

Abbie hobbled in with a carafe and poured each of us a glass of red wine, which lifted the mood. I had never had more than a few sips prior, and after finishing my first glass I felt loose and free.

“Who have you hired to tutor the children?” Helen asked Corrina.

“William Cawfield. He has been amazing.”

“You will have to put us in contact with him.”

“Silas has started looking at boarding schools in Lancaster and Philadelphia for the older two.”

“So much to think of.” I fanned myself, thinking about my own education in Miss Sally’s parlor, which I had been fortunate enough to get, and the one in Massachusetts that had never come to pass.

Corrina touched my wrist. “I was like you once: young. This life forces you to grow up fast.”

Helen finished her wine. “Your daughter will be educated just the same. Never too early to think about a tutor.”

“She’s only three months.”

“Time seems to slip away in dog years,” Anne agreed. “My oldest is already eight and it feels like I just carried her.”

Corrina sipped. “Our children are our legacy. We must educate them, and then get them out of the South.”

“That is my daily prayer. For my children to be completely free,” Anne breathed.

Corrina took my hand in hers. Her touch was soft and soothing. “You must also demand respect. That cook does not respect you. I would have her sold. Do not care how good she salts pork.”

“You just want her for yourself,” Helen teased, and we all giggled.

When I had lived on the Bell plantation, I’d lived in isolation between the loom house and the big house. This budding relationship between these women was all new to me, and it was, apart from my children, a ray of light in an otherwise grim time. By the time the dessert tray was cleared away from the table, the many glasses of wine had gone to all our heads. Helen kept us laughing with stories of her thickheaded house servant, and as I chuckled at yet another tale, I heard the Jailer make a loud grunt from the parlor. Then something crashed to the floor.

“Excuse me.” I rose from the table and walked to the entryway. I was immediately caught off guard to see two of the girls used for entertainment at the tavern in our home. He had one of the girls draped across his knee, and was spanking her with the back of his hand. His forehead was wet and his slack eyes revealed that he was drunk.

“This is how you do it.”

The other three men were caught in the middle of cheering him on when I stepped into the room. They looked away and straightened up in their seats.